


The Wedding

by Onlytomyhusband (Babylawyer)



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 1x07, F/M, Smut, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babylawyer/pseuds/Onlytomyhusband
Summary: My version of Jamie and Claire's wedding night, mostly compliant with episode 1x07
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148





	The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this has been done a thousand times but I couldn't resist.

"I want this marriage consummated, wi' no uncertainty whatsoever. There's to be no question of it bein' a legal union, and no way open for annulment, or we're all riskin' our necks."

Dougal's words echo in Claire's head as she waits for her husband to come and bed her.

 _Husband_. How in the name of God did that happen? Six weeks prior she'd been collecting flowers to give to her husband, her other husband, to Frank. Now here she is sitting and waiting on a different husband, a man she knows next to nothing about—who she'd only learned the last name of seconds before the wedding.

She has to do this, she didn't have a choice. Well, she did, could have stayed with the British Army and been raped or worse by Jack Randall. Either way she'd have been with another man, and Frank cannot fault her for doing everything she can to escape rape, especially at the hands of his own ancestor.

Jamie Fraser was definitely the lesser of two evils—is not even an evil. If there is an evil in what's come to be, it's her, because she isn't entirely unwilling, not at all.

Despite her efforts to deny it, she's attracted to him, very attracted to him. And look at him, how could she not? He's handsome, and strong, and those eyes, those _arms_.

She was casually intrigued by the idea of him, of having him, but it wasn't like that, she wouldn't have done anything about it; it was a curiosity, nothing more.

Until the wedding.

Now it's one she must indulge, and she should feel shame, outrage, should be humiliated, and she is, it's all there, mixed in with terror, incredulity and nerves that are not solely because she has to do this.

Those strong arms swing open the door with more force than is needed and she jumps in her seat, her nerves flaring as he walks inside, looking around awkwardly. She imagines he's about as nervous as she is.

It's one thing to imagine this happening and be okay with it, but it's another to have to do it. And faced with the reality, she's struck mute.

She knows she should be saying something, should be leading this encounter, should somehow guide them into bed, but she just can't, not yet.

She settles on small talk when the silence gets to be too much. It hasn't even been that long, it wasn't awkward but she has this need to fill the air, to say something, and, "Sounds like the wedding party is still going strong," is what comes out.

Jamie gives her that reminder of what's to come, that no one is going to bed until they know that she and Jamie have made things _official_ , and it makes her heart rate shoot back up.

He drops his weapons as she tries to drop her own defences, but it's futile. "Should be grateful they didn't want to watch," flies off her tongue bitterly, and it's not ladylike, but then she'd never been a lady.

Her tongue is sharpened by hysteria that's bubbling under the surface, and she bites off another tense retort, this time aiming her ire at Jamie.

It's not his fault, but she can't help it. His impassioned toast was supposed to help, but hearing him call her _his wife_ just has her belly jumping, the thoughts swirling and it's too much. She pours herself a drink to sew together her frazzled nerves, but though her belly warms at the first one she downs, it's not enough, so she has another, and another. She can't seem to look at him, because it just reminds her of what's to come and she's overwhelmed.

"You needn't be afraid of me, Claire" Jamie tells her softly, as he reaches for her and she makes herself raise her gaze, to look at those troubled blue eyes. "I wasna plannin' to suddenly force myself on you."

Her eyes fall downcast as she snickers, and bites at her lips. She'd taken off her dress before, in a show of bravado that has since left her. Now she stands in her corset and shift and she's far too exposed, is regretting her earlier choice.

She makes herself look him in the eye to tell him, "Never thought you would," because it's important to show him she means that sentiment.

And she doesn't think that, couldn't. Jamie Fraser is not a man who would take her, and that is part of why she likes him so; it's refreshing. From the moment she arrived men have seen her as property, as a thing they could use and abuse, but never Jamie. Jamie Fraser always saw her as a person, always had concern for her, from that first moment she fixed his arm and he wrapped his blanket around her. He always wanted her, that was clear from her first night at Leoch, when his "admiration" drove her out of his comforting embrace.

He's a virgin, had told her as much, and she knows she is going to have to lead this encounter. It makes her a bit uncomfortable. It's not that she doesn't lead, she's not afraid to take charge and ensure it's working for her, but that takes a level of comfort (or drunkenness) that she has not yet achieved.

She needs another drink, and a bit of time, perhaps some conversation, those will help.

And they do, especially as the several drinks she had earlier start to hit while they talk and talk, getting to know each other.

The conversation stops, and she looks at those gorgeous eyes, he's leaning and she starts to as well. Their hands meet and she honestly can't say who reached for who, but they are a breath apart, just need to close the distance and…

She chickens out, so they talk more about their families, well into the night as she learns more about her new husband and him about her. He married her to keep her safe; it's touching. He wants to protect her, more than anyone ever has in her life. It's comforting and intimate in a way she didn't expect, getting to know this man, her new husband.

The nerves finally subside, buried in booze and stories, right up until Angus and Rupert bust in.

It brings it all back and she curses them as Jamie kicks them out. She laughs, because what else can she do and asks one question that he answers before silence overcomes them yet again.

It's painfully awkward, the air now charged between them. They both know what's next, both know it's going to happen, but neither does anything other than gawk and shift from side to side.

"It's getting rather late," she remarks. "Perhaps we should go to bed?"

He stares at her and her cheeks flare, that was the best she had, he cannot expect her to rouse more courage.

"To bed? Or to _sleep_?" He cocks a brow as the corner of his mouth turns up suggestively.

Her, "Well," comes out flirtier than she thought it would—that's the wine talking and she's grateful for it.

He saves her by offering to help her with her laces and it's true what he says, either way she has to get out of this corset, unless she was planning on sleeping in it. Which of course she wasn't, and she tells him that.

It's not like she has anything to change into, not that that really matters. Stripping is… good, is a necessity, will help them into this next step. He also has nothing but the clothes he's wearing, so he too will need to strip, and that should really get things going.

He helps her with her skirts first, after ensuring it's okay, and his hands tremble as he does so, his nerves comforting some of her own.

This is not ideal for either of them, though he wants her, he'd made that perfectly clear, he hadn't wanted it this way. Jamie Fraser was a man ahead of his time, who wanted a woman to choose to marry him, to be with him, and the fact that she hadn't troubles him.

He's a good man, and she is lucky that he was an option, for anyone else would have taken her already, consummated this marriage with no care or concern for her.

In some ways, she almost thinks that would be easier, though she knows it wouldn't. It's just the idea of having to lead, of having to show him, of being an active participant, is unsettling.

It feels more like cheating.

She may have had no choice, but she still feels guilty for what she's about to do, for the unavoidable pleasure she will take from this.

It's better that way though, right? Frank wouldn't want her to hate every minute, would he?

That's enough about Frank, though, she's here with Jamie, is about to take his virginity, and she should be present for that, should not lose herself to the guilt that serves no purpose.

Jamie is here, is hesitantly touching her, and she leans into it, into the sensation of someone else's hands on her. He's removing her choker, and those delicate touches to where she's so sensitive have her breath stuttering out. She imagines for a moment his tongue trailing down that path, teasing and sucking at those nerve endings his fingers have made come alight with those delicate grazes.

This is nice, she can handle this.

Then he's coming around her front and she watches as his hands shake while they move to the laces of the corset, his hand grazing near her breast but not touching, his gaze fixed on her cleavage. She can't blame him for that—her breasts look damn good all hoisted up by this corset. Her breath picks up as he deftly undoes the strings, each movement feeling intimate in a way she wasn't expecting and she feels herself smiling up at him.

She's not naked, not yet, but she feels bare, feels like he is seeing it all, and self-consciousness threatens to flood her before she pushes it down. He's been clear that he wants _her_. This is his fantasy realized, the staring is in wonder, in disbelief, not because he's disappointed.

His fingers trail down her, far too light to be anything but teasing. She knows it's not intentional, knows it's his nerves, but it makes her anticipation grow, has her seeking out that hand, leaning into it, especially when he grasps at her breast, finds a nipple that's already hard. Damn, she shouldn't be enjoying this so much, he hasn't really done anything yet, but the nerves add a thrill to it. She never thought she'd have a new encounter again, thought that was behind her and this dizziness, this newness, how _good_ it is, it takes her by surprise

Her hand seems to move of its own volition, traces gently over the hard plains of his chest she's been admiring.

Then she's telling him, "It's my turn," and his hand falls away from her as she undoes his belt while he exhales shakily.

Her hands are on his kilt when he grasps her for a fierce kiss that takes her breath away. She rises up onto her toes as his hands thread through her hair then down her back, making heat flood through her at the feel of his hands on her.

Her one hand works on his kilt as the other one cups his jaw and all the while she is moaning into the kiss. She's distracted from her task, doesn't manage much more than pressing her hand against his oh so hard length as they kiss and kiss.

He's a damn good kisser, much better than she would have expected, much better than he showed her when they first married.

When they break for air, their lips a whisper apart, she asks, "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Those smouldering eyes stare down at her as he tells her, "I said I was a virgin, no' a monk. If I need guidance, I'll ask."

That's hot. So is the way he drops his kilt and turns her, pressing into her so she can really feel him, his lips connecting with the skin she'd been fantasizing about him licking and her senses go on overdrive.

She wants him, wants this, regardless of the circumstance, the guilt, all the things she isn't thinking about.

He's hard against her rear and it thrills her.

The wine has taken care of her inhibitions and she rocks back into him. Then he moans, breath stuttering as he grasps at her ass and he tries to push into her.

But it's not… she's not ready, and so she pushes at his chest, pulls him down onto the bed and kisses him again.

He's not massive, is nothing she can't take, but it's too much this early.

She has the fleeting thought she should explain, but he's grinding against her and his mouth is moving down her neck again and she decides actions speak louder than words.

She arches up into him, moaning loudly when he hits a sensitive spot on her neck, her hand fisting in his hair and holding him there, pushing him into her when he tries to pull away. He rewards her with a fierce suck that has her nails biting into his skin, her breath whooshing out and heat flaring in places untended since she came through the stones.

Her other hand finds his deliciously solid rear end, gives it a squeeze before urging him more firmly against where she's starting to get wet. Her hand urges him into a rhythm, against her as they kiss again.

He's such a good kisser, and that bodes well for other things. He learned this somewhere and if he can learn that…

She wants it, wants him, so this time when he presses into her, she lets him, opens her thighs so he can move inside her.

It's not entirely comfortable, she needs more than that for things to move smoothly, but she knows the discomfort will be momentary, so she urges him to go slow, and he does, slips into her inch by inch, letting her body adjust to the invasion before he starts to thrust in earnest.

His body is hard and hot atop hers as he starts up a rhythm, and while she rather likes the feel of a man on top of her, especially a big, solid and strong one like him, this is a bit much.

His weight is suffocating her and she pants out a, "Jamie, you're crushing me," that has him adjusting in a way that's good for both of them.

He hits where he needs to and she shifts against him, hips angling so he hits even firmer against that spot, and _oh_ that's nice.

The discomfort abates and it starts to feel good, so she leans into it, moans at the pleasure of him inside her.

"Holy god," he breathes out all low and desperate, and she revels in what she can do to him, this big strong man, brought to _that tone_ , just from being inside her.

It riles her up that much more, has her meeting his thrusts eagerly.

He's pushing into her, has heat starting to build from the way he hits that spot and how he's knocking against her clit with each thrust. It's nice, gets even better when he starts panting onto her neck, those hot breaths making goosebumps flare, and she's about to tell him to suck right there, is imagining how good it would feel, when he suddenly stiffens, spilling into her with a groan.

He rolls off of her and the awkwardness returns, she's left with an ache between her thighs and a general discomfort about what to do or say next while he savours the ecstasy she may not ever see again.

That's it for consummation. That's all they need to do, and she should not, absolutely should not initiate another round just because she was left wanting and needy after round one. That was plenty to fulfil their purpose and she needs to leave it at that.

Christ this is awkward, and she can't help her tapping fingers along his chest, which she knows is only going to draw his attention but can't stop.

He smiles, letting out another satisfied moan, and she smiles back, still feeling the weight of the silence between them.

This is probably still on her, to make the afterglow also run smoothly, so she asks something she has been wondering, "Was it like you thought it would be?"

"Almost. I ha' thought—nay, never mind."

He can't stop there, can't leave her anticipating with this, too, "No, tell me."

"Ye'll laugh at me."

She turns toward him, her smile encouraging him to tell her anyway but he doesn't, just lays there beside her. He collected his thoughts before so it's not the sex that's keeping him silent. She urges, "I promise, I won't laugh."

He scoots in closer to her, propping himself up so he's above her again, looking down at her. "I didna realize that ye did it face to face. I thought ye must do it the back way, like, like horses, ye ken?"

She cannot help herself, is an absolute jerk and devolves into giggles at that. It's just, like horses, only from the back, she can't not laugh at that.

She manages to tamp down her giggles, and he doesn't look any worse for wear because of it, lets out a chuckle himself that soothes her (and almost sets her off again).

She promised she wouldn't laugh and she did, so she apologizes, which he accepts easily, a welcome change from what she's used to (and what she'd do).

"Can I ask ye a question?" Her _of course_ is quickly followed by, "Did ye like it?"

He cannot understand how difficult the question is for her. He doesn't know about Frank, that she's been trying to get back to him, that this is cheating on him. He cannot know that, but it makes answering all that much harder because she's promised him honesty and honest is not something she's quite ready to be.

She ends up looking down again, giving him the complete wrong impression.

"Huh, Murtagh was right about that, then."

She should correct him, but first she wants to know what Murtagh said. Jamie tells her, "He said women generally do not care for it, so I should finish as soon as I could."

She giggles again, because what awful advice, and quickly disabuses him of the notion he should finish as fast as possible, before assuring him that she, in fact, did like it.

It's dangerously honest, gets at things she's not quite willing to process yet.

When he tells her he's seen a good many kinds of animals mate with each other, and most seem to manage it without any advice at all, she has to find out more. Soon she's burying her face and snorting as he tells her about snakes and their double cocks. Has her giggling at the image he paints for her.

She told Frank not so long ago she missed the sound of her husband laughing, and she realizes it wasn't just his laugh she missed, it was hers. They'd gone so long in such sorrowful conditions, she, too, had lost her laugh. She should have saved it for Frank, shouldn't have let Jamie bring it back.

She needs to get out of here, out of this intimate bubble with Jamie. She's hungry and should eat to fend off the hangover, so she makes a choice she quickly regrets. It's a big mistake, though it's hardly her biggest, to go outside for some food. The men jeer and whoop as mortification runs through her and she's frozen. She should go back inside, does so, eventually, but it takes her longer than it should as she stews in her humiliation, in the teasing of the very drunk clansmen.

This is a world unlike what she's used to. She's not a modest woman, but their taunts and jokes are not ones she can stomach, not under the circumstances.

It takes Jamie longer than she would have thought to come back to the room, but when he does he provides a suitable distraction, allows her mind to wander away from the shame of her transgressions against Frank as Jamie tells her of Dougal's terrible advice.

When Jamie says he's completely under her power and happy to be there, it's something she understands far too well, unsettling so. So she asks him for whiskey, because she's going to need another drink to tamp down the guilt and go for what she truly wants, which is him, again.

He pours her another and she thanks him for it, but she shies away from his touch as she thinks of what Frank would say, and no, they can't have that.

No more Frank, not tonight, just for tonight—it is her wedding night after all. Just this one night she'll indulge the lust and attraction that percolates between Claire and Jamie Fraser, then she will stop, will once again be faithful to her other husband.

She apologizes again, smiles over at the beautiful, sweet, no-longer-so-innocent man she's decided to take advantage of for one night only.

He comes behind her, says something in Gaelic she doesn't understand that has her asking, "What does that mean?"

"My brown-haired lass," is the answer, and it makes her softer than it should, has her grinning, though the endearment should mean nothing.

She is not his, not truly, but she likes the sound of it. She avoids the way it makes her feel by verbalizing another thought, a foolish one, but one that did cross her mind. "Rather a dull colour brown, I've always thought."

His voice has a reverence to it as he assures her, "No, not dull at all. It's like the… the water in a burn, the way it ruffles down the rocks. Dark in the wavy spots with wee bits of auburn when the sun touches it."

His hand is in her hair now and she loves that. He might not know it, but he's about to. She leans into the touch, into the pleasant sensation, but he moves on too quickly, is taking her blanket off and she's not yet ready for that.

Though she's given herself permission she's still hesitating, it still feels wrong (it is wrong), and she needs another moment before she gives into the tension between them.

He got a new kilt, in the Fraser colours, which leads to the question, "Where did you get it?" and the story of how Murtagh procured it for him despite his judgment of their wedding. It makes

Murtagh's begrudging approval of her that much more shocking. Just as shocking is his romantic sentiment about her smile being as sweet as Jamie's mothers.

It's after they've finished discussing Murtagh and how Jamie slowed Dougal down with his conditions to marry her, that they end up close together again, and she has to admit she spent her day drinking.

His tale of their wedding and how it was for him solidifies for her that _things_ will be happening again. This is his only wedding night, she will not rob him of the full experience. It's bad enough she was so drunk that it's mostly fuzzy, that his wife, his only wife, couldn't stomach the festivities sober.

It's the talk of kissing that has her hand running down his arm. She still wants him, craves him even though she's already had him. She wants more, wants his skin, his lips, wants to see the hard chest she's been admiring for weeks which is covered up by his shirt.

She walks away from him then turns and commands that he take off his shirt, finally settling into herself, to her desire. The shyness leaves and she goes for what she wants, what she needs.

"I want to look at you," she tells him, and his eyes light up. He stands, making his way toward her then does as he's told, removes his shirt, and oh lord, there it is. His chest is so pronounced, so toned, his muscles bulging and she longs to grab, to feel, to kiss, to bite, to mark this glory as hers.

She touches first, runs her hand along the hard plain of his chest as she circles around to his back, to the evidence of all he's overcome and how much he trusts her.

Then she skims his ass again, because she can't not, it's a perfect thing. But it's just a stop on her trail around him.

When she gets back he says lowly, in a tone that has her thighs clenching, "Well then, fair is fair. Take off yours as well."

And she does, slowly, draws out the unveiling of her body as she undoes the laces of her shift. Then she bares herself to him fully, and he steps back, takes her in with wide, appraising eyes filled with wonder. His stirring perusal makes her long for him, has her belly warming again, that ache from earlier flaring back up.

She steps toward him as she asks, "Have you never seen a naked woman before?"

He swallows, nods and tells her, "Aye, but not one so close."

She's not as close as she could be, as they have already been, as she wants them to be, so she steps in a little further, grabs his hand and places it on her breast, where her nipple is hard and wanting.

The time for talking has ceased, and when he whispers, "And not one that's mine," she leans in for the kiss, crushing her lips against his.

He surprises her when he grabs her and hoists her up, showing off that strength she finds so damn sexy as he walks her over to the bed.

He sits down and pulls her on top of him, and she grinds herself against him as they continue to trade hot, heady kisses, hands roaming across bare skin.

She guides his hand back to her sensitive peak, gasps as he squeezes, then tugs her nipple in a way that sends pleasure shooting down between her thighs.

This is good, so good and she rocks against him, growing wetter as he continues to tease her nipple with that firm pressure that makes her moan.

She kisses him more fiercely, nails biting into his back and he groans, is so hard beneath her. She knows he wants her to sink onto him, but he's waiting for her, and it's just what she needs.

She can explain foreplay in words to him later, but for now, she guides his mouth to her neck, revels in the soft sucks, in the way he licks from her jaw down to her collarbone, then looks up at her and down to her breast, and she moans, nodding and panting with anticipation as his mouth descends.

Her hips buck and she cries out as he takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking it, making the pleasure swirl, and god, that's good.

He moves from one to the other, and she gasps and rocks with more urgency as he brings his hand back in to tease the other.

This is what she needs, this is what will set her up to go off like a rocket.

She's good and slick now, starting to ache for it when he looks her in the eye, a touch pleading and she nods softly, then they are kissing again as he flips her.

She gasps as he slides into her, no resistance this time, her muscles relaxed and ready. She's moaning as he starts up these harsh deep thrusts, she cants her hips just so and every thrust makes heat coil deep inside her.

Fuck, this is what she needed. This is it, this is perfect. He should never stop, this is, wow.

She feels herself getting closer, hands grappling at his back as she urges him to continue, moaning out into the space between them when her lips aren't occupied with his.

Maybe it's the denial that she went without earlier, maybe it's how long it's been, or maybe it's just him, but whatever it is, it has her starting to wind tight and she clenches on him, gasping at the sensation as he drives her closer to the edge.

It's happening fast, but it's _happening._

It only takes a few more of those firm, deep thrusts before it all explodes out from where they are joined. She _moans_ and clenches, feels the euphoria spread through her as his thrusts draw it out, has the pleasure continuing to rush through her, as everything relaxes and the blissful sensation overcomes her.

She lets out a broken, "Ah," as something about how he hits her sends an intense bolt through her.

Jamie stops immediately at the sound and she lets out a bereft cry.

She didn't mean for him to stop, but her brain is too addled to tell him that. She's breathing heavily, slowly coming back to herself as he stares down at her full of concern. "I'm sorry, I dinna mean to hurt you."

She sucks in a breath, attempts to calm her racing heart rate as she tells him, "You didn't."

"You sure?"

God, is she ever, she can still feel the tendrils of pleasure, still has little aftershocks rippling through her as she breathes out a, "Yes."

Then it finally clicks. She sees when he realizes what just happened as the concern washes away and an impish grin replaces it. "I dinna know women could… Does it happen every time?"

She's starting to get her faculties back, is recovering from the intensity of her orgasm and leans down to kiss him, flipping them, taking control. She teases, "Only if the man is a _very_ good lover."

He's so cute as he tells her, "But ye're so small, I dinna want to hurt you."

Instead of telling him he didn't, she decides to show him. She grabs his wrist, the pulse point she knows is sensitive for her and bites gently on it.

She's not surprised by his questioning, "What are ye doing?" and simply commands that he stay still as she takes free rein of his body.

She kisses down his chest, takes his nipple in her mouth and nips it, pulling back to ask him, "Does that hurt?"

"Little bit."

She's fairly certain of the answer but still asks, "Do you want me to stop?" as she starts to bite down his torso.

His stuttered,"No," is all the encouragement she needs, and her hand fists around him, tugging firmly as she continues to explore his chest, his stomach and his hips.

When she hasn't done anything but give his tip a teasing lick, his eyes roll back and he curses into the air, in a way that makes her smirk triumphantly.

When she takes him into her mouth, slips down his length, the strangled moan he lets out is glorious.

She wants to draw this out, wants to get to know him, but also wants to soak his body with as much pleasure as it can stand. He's known far too much pain, and she's determined to do her part to outweigh all of that.

So she sucks firmly, massages his balls in her one hand, as the other joins her mouth in a quick, fast rhythm up and down.

He does nothing but pant and gasp as she does so, and the fact that she's stolen all of his words, that he can only feel, gives her great pleasure.

She's glad that he's young, that he will be able to go again, that she can take advantage of that twenty-three year old stamina and take him again after, because this is turning her on and she wants him again, now.

But he's close and is loving this so she gives it her all, slides her tongue down him as she bobs down and sucks as best she can on the way up. He should get the benefit of her experience after all.

He moans and moans, then he tenses and spills into her mouth with a grunt, his release flooding her mouth. She pulls off when he stops spurting, keeps her hand tugging gently to draw out every last drop of ecstasy as she swallows it down.

Jamie though, he needs a bit of a break, is nodding off before her eyes, and that's fine, she has other needs she can attend to before she rouses him.

She'll satiate her other hunger, will fill her stomach, then come back and take advantage of this one night only she's granted herself to enjoy this man.

One night becomes two, which becomes three, until she gives up all pretences she's going to stop it. She embraces being Claire Fraser completely, and all the benefits that entails.


End file.
